That Pivotal Moment
by MissDizzyD
Summary: A.K.A - Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal. Derek and Stiles bond over five moments that eventually lead to Derek not being an arse.
1. 1 Pixies

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**1. Pixies**

Stiles flashed back to over two years earlier when they'd been in exactly the same position – Derek waiting in the car while Stiles took a look inside at what should've been a harmless situation, just looking out for anything suspicious that could lead then to their quarrel. This time, though, their quarrel was not a psychopathic uncle who wasn't quite as comatose as they expected, but a gang of pixies. _Pixies!_ They were supposed to be cute creatures who mended shoes, not vicious killers who preyed on small children and animals. Yes, so it was similar to last time what with the murders and Stiles feeling way out of his depth, creeping around a dark building late at night. All that was missing was-

"Stiles, get out of there, now! The pixies are here!" Derek yelled at him through the phone.

Exactly that. That was exactly what was missing. Derek shouting at him that their little search had not gone unnoticed by the enemy. His voice was muffled enough to make Stiles think he'd shifted and his fangs were getting in the way. If he'd shifted then danger (and, by extension, pain) were imminent. Stiles quashed all negatives thoughts and vile expletives in favour of madly looking around the dentist surgery he was in. Derek had said to get out, but he knew it was too late for that now and his next best chance of survival was hide. And quickly. He ripped open the door closest to him and threw himself in, hoping that there were no creepy pixie warriors in there. When he had reassured himself that he was alone, he leant against a wall and sank down to the floor, taking the opportunity to look around his hiding place.

There were shelves and shelves of weird tooth products, bottles of dangerous blue stuff, boxes of coveralls and a selection of brooms leaning against each other in the corner. It was stuffed full of all the things necessary to keep a dentist running. Oh, it was also frigging _tiny_ - far too small for Stiles to be comfortable. Only 4 feet square with a low ceiling.

Damn, why did it always happen to him? Why not one of the invincible werewolves he's surrounded by? Why not their Alpha? Why was it always the scrawny human?! Why did they pick on the weakest link all the damn time?! He could feel himself getting hysterical, breath short and sharp like someone was squeezing his windpipe and frying his lungs in one of those deep fat fryers that they have at places like Taco Bell that taste heavenly, but are really bad for cholesterol...

He heard a car door slamming, reminding him that Derek was still waiting for him to say something – anything – to confirm that he was still alive.

"Derek, the walls are closing in, I'm not sure that's normal." Stiles managed to spit out between panicky, laboured breaths, "It's only normal if you're in one of those funfair things but then it's totally safe!" He dragged in another breath. "_This is not a funfair, Derek!_"

"Breathe, Stiles!"

"Still breathing," He snapped, the assertion only being slightly spoiled by the lack of oxygen in his lungs. "Or, I'd probably, be dead, right now."

Derek huffed a bit in his best approximation of a laugh then became serious again.

"Talk to me Stiles, you need to stay calm." He said. Stiles thought briefly about how much he loved the way Derek lisped his name when he had his fangs out and wondered what that would sound like if Derek was short of breath and sweating... Making Stiles come apart for him. "Stiles!" There it was again. Ugh.

"Crap, what?!" He whispered angrily at the phone in his hand as if it was directly responsible for interrupting his fantasy.

"Talk to me, stay calm, I'm coming for you now."

"What's taking you so long? You were right outside!"

"Stiles!"

"Derek-" Stiles stopped talking immediately when he started paying attention to his environment. There was someone walking around in the surgery outside his door. "Crap." He muttered to himself, hanging up on Derek in case he started speaking again. Besides, his creeper would find him eventually. _Crap!_ He'd been running with werewolves for two and a half years and he was going to die at the hands of pixies, cowering in a cupboard? No, he'd go out fighting, god damn it! Derek would kill him when he found out. _If you're not already dead_, a very nasty voice at the back of his head hissed.

Stiles got to his feet as quietly as possible and reached over to grab his weapons of choice. He then wrenched open the door and started attacking, swinging the broom like a hammer, satisfied when he made contact and his victim made an _oomph_-ing noise, which was soon cut off by the bottle of what claimed to be polycarboxylate that Stiles threw in his face. _Headshot!_

He didn't take any chances after that. Hopefully his victim/assailant would be shocked by his little assault but he didn't wait to check, he simply turned and ran. Or, more correctly, he tried to run. He got two steps before he was pressed again the pale blue wall of the waiting room, a familiar warm weight holding him right where he was.

"That was rude." Ugh, that lisp.

"Derek?" Stiles turned his head ever so slightly and saw Derek's red Alpha eyes and pearly white fangs right next to his head. Haha. _That's funny because we're in a dentist._ "Do you shift when you're brushing your teeth?" Damn it. Once again, his filter deserted him when he needed it most. He saw the confusion in Derek's eyes as they slowly faded back to that weird hazel/green colour. Seriously, what colour even is that? It's sinful. "Never mind."

Derek loosened his grip just enough that Stiles could spin round, still surrounded by an unholy amount of pure Derek – his smell and his warmth and his slightly terrifying, insanely intense glare. Stiles tried so hard not laugh, he really did, but Derek looked a bit like his face was melting because of the congealing polycarboxylate.

"Uh," he said, coughing to cover his mini laugh, "you'll want to get that off, ASAP."

"No, really? I quite like it where it is." Derek's sarcasm kind of made Stiles feel proud. He felt like he'd taught Derek an emotion.

"Haha. Funny. Seriously, though. It's practically pre-mixed cement." Stiles said and then looked on as Derek's features turned from sarcastic, to confused, to panicky, to annoyed… And settled on annoyed, like he usually does where Stiles is concerned. "You have about 30 seconds before your face sets."

Derek didn't say anything, merely grabbed Stiles by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the bathroom with him.

…

As Derek scrubbed viciously at his face, looking in the mirror every now and then to see if he'd missed anything, Stiles thought back and noticed a flaw in what they were doing.

"Derek, where are the pixies?" His voice rose by around six octaves as he spoke.

"Gone."

Stiles waited, he truly did, before saying anything more, but some things just can't change and Stiles wasn't a patient person.

"You're so forthcoming with information tonight." He deadpanned, aiming for the same effect Derek gets. He gets close enough to appease himself. "Pray tell, almighty Alpha, _where_ have they 'gone'."

"Not my problem right now."

"Fantastic. Just fantastic." He hit Derek's arm and Derek just looked at him unimpressed and blankly. "You scared the crap out of me! All that _'Stiles, run! Get out now! We're all going to die!'_ stuff? You nearly gave me a panic attack! Were they here at all? Were you just kidding me?"

"They left when I arrived."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Stiles flailed his hands a little bit and started pacing behind Derek, who was still washing around hairline.

"You hung up on me. I was trying to find you when you attacked me." Derek met his gaze in the mirror managing to look annoyed but proud at the same time. Stiles floundered again. There was no way he was letting this go.

"Is that...? No..." He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to wipe away a tear from his cheek. "Actual pride? From the Sourwolf? Aw, Derek!" For all the acting, Stiles was feeling strangely touched by the look that Derek still had on his face. Touched enough that he would launch himself recklessly into a hug with the Alpha, the Alpha with huge fangs and claws that Stiles had momentarily forgotten about. Derek shoved him into the wall again, one hand pressing again Stiles' stomach and the other at his neck to keep him pinned where he wanted him.

Stiles tried to ignore how obviously his heart rate had skyrocketed. He knew Derek could hear it too and, in that moment, something shifted between them. Derek's hands turned softer against Stiles' skin and there was a glint in Derek's eyes that took his breath away, turned his brain to something resembling melted marshmallow. He lifted his right hand to Derek's shoulder to keep his balance. With Derek's hands being less I'm-pinning-you-against-a-wall and more I-want-to-touch-every-part-of-you-until-you're-moa ning-my-name, Stiles could only rely on his own body to keep him standing and he sure as hell didn't trust his body. Not with the way a certain area below his waist was betraying him right now.

Derek's eyes followed Stiles' movement with something resembling panic and he backed away quickly, looking anywhere but at the boy he'd just victimised, because that's exactly what it was – he'd pinned the kid against the wall and felt his stomach muscles, stroked the smooth skin of his neck. Derek felt sick with himself.

"Come on, it's late." Derek muttered, striding purposefully out of the dentist surgery and ignoring the heavy breathing behind him. Stiles took a moment to recover then followed Derek to the car park with one thought at the forefront of his mind: _What the hell was that?_


	2. 2 Hunters

_Just a few things:_

_1. This chapter's a bit (read as - 'a lot') longer than the first. Sorry if that's an issue, I got carried away._

_2. Title is from This Kiss ~ Alex Day ft. Carrie Hope Fletcher_

_3. Danny's my favourite._

_Dizzy xx_

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**2. Hunters**

Stiles was sweating profusely in the mid-August afternoon heat, and he wasn't even really _in_ on the 'training session'. He, Allison, Lydia and Danny had been left on Derek's renovated porch while the actual wolves of the pack frolicked about the forest or killed small creatures or whatever else they did on the day of the full moon. Sometimes they would chase each other across the clearing in front of the humans but mostly Stiles and the others would only know their pack was safe from playful growls and occasional flashes of yellow eyes. It was enough for them, though, sitting drinking lemonade and chatting about whatever came to mind. Though he was a bit confused as to why Allison had brought her bow and quiver with her.

"Stiles, do you know what they're saying about the dentist surgery?" Lydia asked without looking up from her magazine. There was something about the Large Hadron Collider and an ATLAS Experiment on the front cover. None of them would ever draw attention to it from fear of losing limbs, but everyone was secretly glad Lydia trusted them more and more, to the point of not being embarrassed to read scientific magazines in front of them. She even tried to explain the formation of a black hole to Scott the other day before realising it was a total waste of time.

"Dad suspects a failed robbery, more because they can't explain why someone would break in, walk around for a while, steal a broom and cover the waiting room in cement." Allison and Danny laughed for a while and Lydia smiled a bit, just a slight curve of those red lips to show she was amused. "Obviously, they don't know about the pixies."

"As long as there's no suspicion on us, they can think what they like." Lydia said. She closed her magazine and stood up to stretch, the hem of her top riding up ever so slightly above her shorts. Stiles was treated to a flash of fair skin before she let her arms drop and picked up her glass to get a refill. Stiles hadn't felt any proper feelings for Lydia for over a year, but he was still allowed to appreciate how clear and beautiful her skin was. Right? Right. "Anyone else want a drink?"

Stiles almost suggested body shots, but kept that thought to himself. _May as well save it for later._ He though. Danny handed her his glass with murmured thanks so Lydia went off to the kitchen to get more lemonade. It was when Lydia was making her way back through the front door that they all heard the unmistakeable warning growl. It was so sudden and so loud and so _frightening_ that they all leapt up from their loungers, Lydia dropped the full glasses which smashed onto the porch and Allison, apparently out of sheer habit, grabbed her bow.

Stiles was off the porch before any of them could stop him. He ran as fast as he could towards the growling noises in the forest, silently thanking Coach Finstock for all those Suicide Sprints. Amongst the growling, which had reached almost deafening levels, Stiles could hear shouting and screaming... Humans. Almost definitely hunters. _Shit!_ He pushed himself harder and harder, willing himself towards the source of the noise. He could hear footsteps behind him too and when he looked, Allison and Danny were right behind him, matching him pace for pace, and Lydia was trotting after them in her stupid, strappy high heels.

When they reached the clearing that was holding the fight, Stiles gasped. There was _a lot_ of blood staining the ground already. He didn't know what to hope – if it was the hunters' blood, they could be seriously injured, perhaps dead, but they might stop the fight and go home. If it was the wolves that were hurt, they would heal, but Stiles didn't want a single member of his pack to be hurt. He didn't know what to think.

Allison was already shooting arrows at the hunters, aiming for legs and arms because she, like Stiles, didn't want to actually hurt them; she only wanted them to back off from her pack. She never missed.

Danny was running over to help Isaac, who was pinned to the ground under a burly male hunter. He jumped on the hunter's back and dragged him off. The two of them rolled away and Isaac sprang after them, determined to protect his friend.

Stiles, however, was at a loss. He wasn't badass like Allison, he wasn't strong and sure of his skills like Danny and he definitely wasn't a wolf. He was a pathetic human – the weakest link of the pack. Even _Lydia_ was better than him, she would think of something to do, but she was left behind somewhere in the forest in impractical shoes. _At least she's safe._ Stiles thought as he stood at the boundary of the clearing and prayed for something helpful to do.

He watched carefully, making sure that each of his pack members were ok and still up and fighting. If any of them went down, he would run and stand between them and whatever bullets or knives flew at them because that's all he was good for – a shield.

Erica and Boyd were ok, fighting together at the other side of the clearing trying to defend each other more than themselves. The overall outcome was ok though and they were holding off the three hunters going for them.

Danny had pulled out some cable ties and was securing his hunter's wrists behind his back.

Isaac had left Danny once he was safe and was now chasing a younger huntress across the clearing. It looked almost flirtatious the way he was nipping at her coat, but he was definitely not playing. That much was obvious from the way his claws were catching her clothes. She was screaming for help, but the entire fight seemed to have tipped in the wolves' favour.

Scott and Jackson were close to each other, but fighting their own battles one-on-one. Stiles winced as he saw Scott's arm slashed, but Scott paid it no attention. Jackson was in a similar situation - despite the blood running down his arms and his shirt in tatters, he was holding his own.

Finally, his eyes fell on Derek. He had shifted to his Alpha form and was doing incredibly well against the hunters that were ganging up on him. There were two bodies lying on the floor near Derek, but Stiles wasn't worried about them because he could see their chests rising and falling steadily. Out cold, then, not dead.

Yes, Derek was doing outstandingly well, right up until one of the hunters decided things weren't getting done quickly enough. Stiles saw what was happening and cried out a warning.

Three shots echoed off the trees... then complete silence. Every pair of eyes in the clearing turned to look at Derek as he dropped to the floor with nothing more than a pitiful whine. Stiles had no idea what he was doing until he was 10 feet away from the shooter. He launched himself at the bastard who had shot Derek and rugby tackled him to the ground, yanking his gun away from him. He could hear the betas howling and converging around Derek to protect him. Protect the Alpha. Apparently that was an instinct that the wolves had.

Meanwhile, Stiles was punching the shooter again and again, a man in his 40s with short, dark hair and a permanent sneer on his face.

"You're the Alpha's bitch? The omega?" He leered before Stiles landed one last punch. Then he was being dragged off and thrown down in front of Jackson, but he wasn't in the dirt for long. Jackson was pulling him to his feet and pushing him inside the circle of betas, closer to Derek.

Stiles threaded his hands into the fur on Derek's cheeks and looked into his red eyes. He could see the pain and fear, but also the annoyance and anger. The pack always said that Derek was emotionally constipated, that he wasn't good at telling people how he was feeling, but Derek had managed to communicate his exact feelings in a single look. Maybe it's just because Stiles was empathetic.

"This was a warning," a hunter behind him said calmly. Stiles looked around briefly and was surprised that the hunter who had shot Derek and that Stiles had subsequently attacked was actually in charge of their little circus. "We will kill you all if you cause trouble."

Stiles snorted loudly and derisively, but didn't say anything. The leader had obviously heard him, and turned to speak directly to him.

"Mind how you treat people who can kill you." Then he turned his gaze to Derek. "And if you must keep omegas, at least teach them proper manners."

Derek growled and lifted his head, only to drop back into Stiles' hands with a whimper. Stiles felt a burst of rage, but kept his hands gentle as they rubbed slow circles in Derek's fur. This man had hurt Derek. He would pay. But right now, Derek needed him.

"Stiles isn't omega," Scott said forcefully. "He's pack. He's human. You can't hurt him, it's in the code."

The hunters laughed and muttered between themselves, obviously mocking them.

"We follow no code."

Stiles felt rather than heard Derek's growl this time because his hearing had gone a little funny and his brain was in turmoil. If this group of hunters didn't follow the code then Stiles, as a pack member, was fair game and the hunters would do anything they could to get to him. The same went for Lydia, Danny and Allison. They would use any method they could to get to the pack, including hurting the wolves' families. Stiles zoned out of the conversation, thinking of 101 ways they could torture his father. He was only brought back when Derek gently nuzzled Stiles' elbow with his wet nose, giving him a knowing look. The sensation was equal parts reassuring, unpleasant and _really fucking incredible_.

"By the way, you'll need to choose a new Alpha." The leader of the hunters said, then gestured his crew to follow him away. Someone cut the cable ties Danny had used and they went laughing and joking, not caring that they just pissed off a pack of stubborn teenagers. Everyone was completely still until the hunters were out of hearing range. Stiles rested his head against Derek's side while he waiting, listening to the fast heartbeat and laboured breathing. When he could no longer hear the hunters, he jerked to his feet and started talking a mile a minute.

"We need to get Derek back to the house, right now. We need to know what he was shot with before we can do anything about it, but my guess is it isn't wolfsbane because there's no weird blue light." Derek gave a soft grumble that sounded like confirmation, so Stiles went on. "It could be silver. I read about it when Scott was turned, silver stings and burns wolves. That's my guess. Enough could probably kill him." He tried to hide how his voice faltered as he looked around at the pack, all of whom were listening intently to what he was saying. Stiles wasn't used to people listening to him but they all knew how serious the situation was. Stiles had taken the lead and everyone listened. If anyone knew this shit, it was Stiles – he'd learnt from Derek and Deaton. "Who'll take Derek? He can't walk like this."

"Me." Scott said straight away, stepping forwards. Scott and Derek might not have had the best relationship, but they grudgingly respected each other and Scott knew what had to be done. Derek was the Alpha and he needed help.

"And me." Jackson said.

Boyd didn't say anything at all, merely joined them where they were standing around Derek and nodded.

"Ok, good. Be careful with him." He said harshly, following it with, "And don't argue with each other. This shit needs to get done quickly." He watched while the three boys gently lifted Derek between them. Stiles tried not to think of Derek as dead weight, but he didn't like the way the wolf was hanging between them. "Erica," Stiles said, smiling when Erica stepped forwards without a single snarky comment or a sneer. She actually looked quite shaken up. "You need to find Lydia." She nodded and took off into the woods straight away. That only left Isaac, Danny and Allison. "Isaac, get Deaton on the phone and tell him what's happened, ask if he can come and help. We need to get back to the house."

...

Stiles hardly wanted to look as he crossed the threshold into the house, fearing what he might see, but Scott came over to him straight away and explained what Stiles could've easily seen if Scott would just _move._

"He's getting worse. He managed to shift back, but it was really bad. Three shots to the torso. We, uh..." Scott cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed pink. "We covered him with a sheet." Stiles can't help the mini laugh that escapes him but is forever grateful to Scott for ignoring the hysterical edge to it. Could this situation get any worse?

"St-Stiles..." Derek rasped from where he was lying on the couch. Stiles jolted over and knelt next to the cushions.

"What do you need? Water? Are you cold?" Stiles pressed his hand to Derek's forehead without really thinking, but Derek seemed to relax at his touch. At that moment, Isaac came into the room with a panicked expression, clasping his phone tightly in his hand.

"Deaton can't be here until tonight. He said he couldn't leave until later. What do we do?" He looked pleadingly around the room and waited for someone to say something. Stiles understood why Isaac was feeling this worse than the rest of them. Isaac had been living with Derek since his father died and the two had become close, close beyond being pack. Stiles had even wondered if there was anything sexual between them until Isaac assured him he wasn't interested in Derek like that and he could smell the jealousy on Stiles, which, of course, Stiles denied entirely.

"Everyone... out." Derek muttered, making hardly any sound at all. The wolves left straight away, but Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist as he tried to go too. "Not you." Derek pulled his head forwards until it was on his shoulder. Derek took comfort in the fact that one of the strongest members of his pack was right there next to him and he knew it calmed Stiles too. Stiles needed to be calm. "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to dig the bullets out."

...

It wasn't like Stiles hadn't fought this decision for all he was worth. He had had a quick, one-sided discussion with Derek as to why Stiles should never be allowed to mess around in someone's body with a pair of tweezers. He had explained that he didn't know if he could steady his hands for that long. He had told Derek that it was a flat out no. Derek wasn't listening to any of his arguments, though. He just watched Stiles talking and talking about why he shouldn't be allowed to do it as Derek got paler and paler, sweat starting to form droplets on his skin.

Eventually, it had taken Scott coming in with a pair of forceps for Stiles to realise that actually yes, he was a better choice for this than Scott. Even though Scott was a vet-in-training, he didn't exactly like Derek and he might not be as careful as he should be. So he had taken the forceps and approached the couch.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asked for the last time. After this, he was going to do it.

"Yes." Derek sounded weak, even to Stiles' human ears. The entire pack had come in to say good luck to Stiles and Derek and it felt strangely like they were saying goodbye, which hardly boosted Stiles' confidence with the matter. The pack didn't trust him not to mess this up so how could he trust himself? Erica had come back with Lydia who looked only a little worse for wear, a few bits of leaf in her hair and limping in her shoes.

He knelt over Derek and mentally prepared himself. He'd taken a lot of Adderall in an attempt to force himself to focus. It had worked to a certain extent and it had stilled his hands somewhat but he was still nervous and scared of hurting Derek.

"Are you absolutely sure you're sure?" He asked, screwing his promise not to ask again. He wanted to be sure that everyone was sure. He was beyond double and triple checking; he must've asked dozens of times now, but he had to be sure.

"Stiles. Now..."

"Ok. Here we go." He said. Then he lowered the forceps into the first bullet wound. Stiles had purposefully chosen to start with the bullets closest to his stomach out of reluctance to fiddle around in Derek's chest. Derek groaned slightly as Stiles hit the bullet. "Oh crap, I'm so sorry, I'm so, _so_ sorry. I'm sorry Derek, sorry..." He carried on mutter apologies until he had a decent grip on the bullet, then he started to pull it out...

Derek screamed.

In hindsight, Stiles had to admit that it was a very manly scream considering he was having a silver bullet pulled out of him by a less-than-qualified surgeon.

"Jesus!" Stiles moaned as the bullet slid out with a final squelch. The wound started healing immediately, but the mental scars would never leave Stiles. He was doomed to years of nightmares. "I can't do it, Derek. I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Stiles, listen-"

"No! I _hurt_ you Derek!" Stiles said despairingly, "I can't do it again because I'm hurting you."

"It didn't hurt." Derek lifted up his hand weakly and wiped at Stiles' cheek. He hadn't even realised he was crying until the tears were gone. He was so feeble, he hated himself for it. "You have to keep going. _Please._"

So he did.

...

Deaton arrived at the Hale house around 9 o clock that night to find Derek sat up on the sofa fully clothed with a very sleepy Stiles pressed against him, cheek on his shoulder and eyes drooping shut. The vet watched the scene carefully for a few minutes while Scott explained what happened, how Stiles had cried while taking the bullets out, how he had almost overdosed on Adderall to stop his hands shaking, how he cared enough to stay with Derek afterwards and how finally, Stiles had collapsed where he was now.

Everyone understood that Derek would have to be checked by Deaton to make sure. That's what prompted Isaac to crowd onto the sofa and take Derek's place so Stiles wouldn't be too disturbed. Despite the fact that no one had been sure if Stiles could do it, they all practically worshipped him now. He and Derek were the centre of attention all afternoon with people fawning over them and fetching them drinks and cuddling up to them. Stiles had felt appreciated and necessary to the pack. And he loved it. Even Boyd had sat with him for a while.

When Derek was given the ok from Deaton, he reclaimed his place on the sofa, usurping Isaac. Stiles, who was only half asleep, snaked his arms around his waist and hugged him close.

...

Stiles woke up again in the early hours of the morning, still on the sofa and pressed against a sleeping Derek. He didn't see Derek sleeping much so he took the opportunity to _look, _unwatched and undisturbed.

Everything about Derek seemed perfect. The way his jaw was slacker than it was during waking hours as though all the tension had drained out of him as he was whisked away to his own dream world. Derek's dream world was probably full of hot blonde supermodels and fast cars; why would he be tense there?

His cheekbones were still sharp enough to cut diamond. Stiles had always known that, but he never really dwelled on it before. Now, though, he inspected every inch. They truly were spectacular. Thoughts about licking honey off them came unbidden to Stiles' mind before he could stop them and he spent a moment trying to quash all sexy thoughts about Derek.

Then there was his mouth. Christ, what Stiles would do that mouth... The pale pink was always slightly pouty, even in sleep and he looked so kissable... Stiles was leaning up towards Derek's mouth with one goal in mind. He had to kiss him. He'd wanted to at the dentist when he was pinned against the wall, he had wanted desperately to claim Derek's mouth and twist their tongues together, moan that he was Derek's forever if he wanted him, no questions asked.

And here they are, all alone in this house with no one around. No one would see, he would sneak one tiny kiss to assuage his curiosity then never think of it again. He would do it now. No one needs to know...

"Stiles, go to sleep." Derek murmured softly.

He stopped breathing and froze exactly where he was, not daring to even blink.

"Stiles, go back to sleep." Derek said after a minute, much more firmly this time.

With his plan ruined, there wasn't much else that Stiles could do. He dropped back against the cushions, trying to maintain some kind of distance between them and ignoring the rejection seeping through his veins. He didn't go back to sleep though, he sat there all night until it was a decent hour to go home, when he got in his Jeep and drove back down Derek's drive. If he looked back, well, no one needed to know...


	3. 3 Poorly

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**3. Poorly**

Stiles really should've seen this coming, what with the pressure of finals a month or so ago, the pixies, which no one was entirely convinced they were gone for sure, then bringing Derek back from almost-death after those hunters attacked. Not to mention the stress of everyday pack life – things like making sure Boyd and Erica made it to their room before stripping off had been funny to start with but were now becoming exhaustingly common.

Everything was getting seriously on top of Stiles and he hadn't been getting enough sleep or eating enough vitamins to counteract his ridiculously hectic life. It was hardly his fault but now he had to deal with the consequences: A horrible cold, complete with migraine, sore throat, runny nose and hot flushes, all in the middle of August when he should be out spending time with the pack rather than huddling in a nest of blankets.

He'd been ill for days and he was getting pretty tired of dragging his diseased body out of bed in the morning only to relocate to the sofa for 12 hours of Buffy, then moving back to bed, watching more TV and falling asleep again.

The only highlights were the visits from his pack members, but the other humans weren't allowed into the house in case the illness spread. Derek's orders. That limited his visitors to Scott, who always rushed off to meet Allison after only a few minutes; Erica, whose bedside manner needed a lot of work, or she at least needed to lose the habit of purposefully waking Stiles up with horrifically loud One Direction music every morning; Jackson, who hadn't actually visited yet; Boyd, who Stiles loved because he was quiet, but had to look after his four younger siblings so wasn't around much; and Isaac, who was Stiles' favourite by a long shot because the boy could cuddle for hours, enjoying the comfort just as much as Stiles.

The humans managed to show how much they missed him, though. He'd gotten a lovely bouquet of white anemones from Lydia that were sitting in front of the fireplace surrounded by a dozen or so get-well-soon cards from each member of the pack, Mrs McCall, the Argents (who knew they cared, right?) and even one from Deaton. It was nice to know that it wasn't only the pack that cared for him now. It gave him all sorts of warm feelings.

And then there was Derek, who had not left the Stilinski house since Stiles first complained of a headache. That confused Stiles because Derek never cared enough to stay unless there was a properly scheduled movie night/sleepover, but the last few days had changed that completely. The first night he had been ill, Stiles had woken around dawn to feel Derek's arms cocooning him in delicious (if slightly stifling) heat. His cheek was pressed soundly against Derek's chest and both of his hands had wandered so that they were gently resting on those fantastic, naked abs.

Stiles wondered if he'd missed something in their relationship. Were they together and he hadn't noticed it? Did he have short term memory loss? He was desperately trying to remember if they'd had sex when Derek grumbled a bit and started to wake up. Stiles pretended to be asleep to save them both the embarrassment, but Derek didn't freeze or start yelling when he saw how they wrapped up in each other they were. On the contrary he gave Stiles a gentle squeeze and went to shower.

What fresh hell?

Stiles couldn't figure it out, so he did what any self respecting stubborn person would do: he ignored it.

...

The day after his unconscious snuggle-fest with Derek had been awkward to start with, especially when he, Derek and Isaac were talking about the pros and cons of Spike over their toast. Derek, apparently, was more into Angel, but didn't take too kindly to being compared to him looks-wise when wolfed out. Isaac idolised Angel, too, but Stiles had always preferred Spike.

"There's something about the whole danger thing that just gets me." Stiles explained when the others looked at him like a lunatic. He had spent years building up a case for Spike. "Plus, I mean, those cheekbones. Ugh. I would." Isaac had shrugged indifferently and gone back to his cereal but Derek stared.

"But you're straight." Derek said, slowly and clearly. Stiles took on the look of a very startled deer in some very bright headlights.

"What?" Isaac said after swallowing a mouthful of Cocoa Krispies. "No he's not. He's so gay he's practically Dumbledore."

Stiles felt his eyes get impossibly wider and he was pretty sure he was dying. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Or an aneurysm? It would explain why his brain wasn't working. _Isaac just outed me,_ was the only thought his brain could supply. The others were staring at him, waiting for his input, but he stared right back. What did they want him to say?

"He's obviously gay," Isaac started again, "Danny picked up on it straight away."

"But what about Lydia? He liked her for years. Then there was... Heather..." Derek trailed off, realising how awkward this whole conversation was. If it weren't bad enough that they were discussing Stiles' sexuality, they then brought up the dead girl he should've lost his virginity to. Derek was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who wanted to curl up under a rock, judging by Stiles' facial expression.

"He's definitely gay, remember when-"

"Ok, stop right there," Stiles finally found his voice when he realised that Isaac was about to start detailing what made Stiles gay. It was probably time to set a few things straight. Or not straight. Haha. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and thought hard about how he could phrase this. "There's actually a fantastic middle ground... that I tend to identify with..."

"You're bi?" Derek frowned. Stiles prickled at that.

"Hey, you judge me and you're out on your ass, _dude_." Stiles pointed towards the front door with a scowl to match Derek's. He knew that his reaction was unreasonable but at the same time if Derek thought he could be a douche about this, then he was not responsible from any harm that might come to those fine chest muscles.

"What?" Derek look thoroughly shocked, like an alien had just burst out of Stiles' stomach. "Are you forgetting that Danny is in my pack? I'm not homophobic, I just didn't realise."

"Oh."

"Anyway," Isaac butted in. That's another thing that Stiles loved about Isaac – he did everything in his power to avoid conflict, particularly within the pack. Unless it was Jackson, in which case he cut his losses and didn't get involved. Nothing, not even Isaac's puppy dog eyes, can stop Jackson when he's pissed off. "What are we doing today?"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Stiles asked through a yawn and an obscenely large bite of toast. Isaac looked a bit sheepish so Stiles took that as a yes. Isaac muttered something about calling in sick so he could stay and Stiles' heart melted just a little bit. He wasn't about complain, not when the kid gave the best hugs known to wolf-kind and he was very free with said hugs. Besides, Stiles knew all about not wanting to work. At least Isaac had gotten as far as getting a job.

...

When it came to Stiles' third day of illness, though, he insisting that Isaac go back to work, no matter how much he was hugged and nuzzled. He dragged himself out of bed when Isaac arrived at around 8 AM and started making him a packed lunch, ignoring the protests that came from Derek, his father and Isaac.

"Dad, shouldn't you be at work by now, too?" Stiles asked over the noise of the kitchen. "Like, nearly an hour ago?"

"I wanted to make sure you were ok, kiddo."

"I'm great dad. I'm only going to be sat around today; you don't have to worry about me." Stiles put Isaac's sandwiches, apple, crisps, chocolate and raisins in a paper bag and handed it over. He didn't miss the look of pride that his father gave him. "Derek, drive Isaac to work." Stiles said over his shoulder, but Derek crossed his arms and prepared for the coming argument. One that he would most likely lose because Stiles is just _that_ stubborn. The Big Bad Wolf had lasted through many things, but Determined Stiles _always_ got his way.

"Hold on," the Sherriff said, standing up between them and taking has plate over to the dishwasher. "I'll take him. The bakers isn't far from the station."

"At least _you_ act like a grown up, dad." Stiles said, moving over to kiss his dad's cheek.

"Well, I'd hate to be called to my own house to deal with a domestic." He replied quickly, leaving no room for doubt as to where Stiles got his sharp wit.

Five minutes later and Isaac was on his way to work in the police cruiser and Stiles was once again left with Derek and Buffy. Derek walked through to the living room and sat at one end of the sofa, legs stretched out on the cushions next to him, managing to take up all the space. Somehow that didn't seem fair, since he was completely healthy and had his own apartment that he could lounge around in if he wanted to. Stiles followed him through and slumped on top of him, sprawling over his legs. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with this arrangement, but Stiles refused to move until Derek said something. He waited and waited, pretending to pay attention to the episode of Buffy, but really watching Derek getting riled up in his peripheral vision.

Derek knew what was going on and it pissed him off. Stiles was bored – that's what this was about. Stiles could never enjoy sitting inside for days on end watching TV, however much he loved Sarah Michelle Gellar. If he wasn't sick, he would've been out of the door two days ago shouting about how he was bored and annoyed and he was never going home again. Except he couldn't, so he was taking it out on Derek. _Two can play at that game._

...

Derek was going to crack soon. Stiles could tell as he felt his new favourite cushion fidgeting underneath him. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for – piss off Derek Hale and something interesting would happen, even if it was just getting thrown on the floor. But Derek didn't dump Stiles on the carpet.

He grabbed Stiles around the waist and lifted him easily, much to Stiles' horror. As if he needed anymore reason to feel insecure about his scrawniness. Then, before he could start flailing and objecting, he found himself nestled against Derek's chest, sat between his legs, tucked right up close to him. He could feel Derek's heart thumping against his back; feel each breath that he took; each twitch of muscle as he relaxed in this new position.

Stiles didn't relax. Stiles sat as upright as Derek's arms around his waist would let him.

"Calm down." Derek said, his face still turned towards the TV looking completely blank. Derek was happy with how his idea had turned out. Stiles had had a taste of his own medicine, his own ideas used against him to make him feel uncomfortable. Derek was also happy because having Stiles held against him like that felt... good... even if the boy wouldn't _calm the fuck down_.

He tried. He really, _really_ tried to calm down, but having his ass so close to Derek's crotch was distracting him _a lot_. He wasn't even sure what episode of Buffy they were on anymore, because he had spent a while staging a mental freak out as to why they're snuggling while he was awake. They'd never done this. Stiles went to bed alone and woke up alone in the morning. The only indication that Derek was ever there was the faint smell of him on the sheets and that first night when Stiles woke up. Neither of them ever mentioned it. That's just how it was. _But what the hell is going on now?_

Stiles did start to relax after a while though, because staying tense for more than 5 minutes hurt and he managed to get a hold on his raging hormones and convince his body to play ball. Derek let his head rest on Stiles' shoulder somewhere during the next episode and Stiles leant back further and further. They were halfway through Season Two when he realised that he was actually counting Derek's heartbeats and that was a bit creepy, so he makes an excuse and moves.

"I'm gonna get some toast," he announced, trying to stumble up off the sofa, losing all dignity in the process. So he ended up on the floor anyway, even without Derek putting him there. Damn it!

Derek's lips quirked up at the corner as he dragged Stiles back onto the couch, plonking him down on the cushions and standing up himself instead.

"I'll get it."

"Oh. Ok. Thanks." Stiles settled down again, tucking his feet under a cushion and pulling a blanket over himself. Now that he's away from an extremely hot (in all senses of the word) werewolf, he's actually cold.

Derek came back soon after and dropped back onto the sofa next to Stiles, leaning into him just enough for Stiles to feel awkward.

"I thought you were making toast?" Stiles asked after a minute, realising that he isn't devouring any delicious buttery goodness right now.

"It's in the toaster."

"Oh," Stiles said. He cleared his throat. It shouldn't be this hard to show his gratitude, but Derek is... Derek. Derek is Derek and that makes it hard. "Uh... Thanks?"

"Was that a question?" Derek asked with a smirk. Stiles reached out and flicked him on the nose, knowing how much the action would annoy him and how much pure pleasure he would get from that. Derek slowly turned to look at him, pouting and scowling and... _Oh my God..._ _That look._ Derek looked all intense and hot and angry and Stiles muscles are tense again, anticipating what's about to happen. _That mouth... Holy..._ He heard his heart picking up its pace, beating doubly fast as normal and Derek definitely heard it, too, and he can probably smell the effect he's having. Thing is... Stiles doesn't care. He keeps staring at those lips... Imagining them all over him. Dragging along his throat and across his shoulders and down his spine... He watches as Derek's pupils dilate, leaving only a tiny rim of green. _Oh my God. _They both want this. _Why shouldn't I take it while I can?_ He starts to lean forward but Derek startles, his head flicking to look towards the kitchen, eyes wide and afraid. Stiles backs off, the rejection stinging him. _Ouch._ He thinks.

But then he smelt it too.

Smoke.

"Crap." Stiles muttered, leaping up and running through to the kitchen. "Crap!" He shouted, taking in the flames coming out of the toaster. And finally he realised why Derek was so afraid... Fire. Derek smells fire and only thinks of one thing. "_Crap!_" He said one last time, just for good measure, before grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the sink and pointing it towards the toaster. Stiles felt like a badass super hero saving the day and it would actually be quite funny if he were with anyone else... Anyone at all, just not Derek...

Once Stiles got the fire out, he searched for Derek through the white power still swirling in the room. He was stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, fists clenched at his sides and looking very much like he wants to run away from the entire thing.

Stiles dropped the extinguisher right where he was and strode over to his Alpha, his friend, grabbing his arm gently but firmly and pulling him out the back door to fresh air. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack so Stiles wrapped his arms around the older man's neck and pulled him into a hug. He wasn't sure if hugging was a proper medical panic-prevention method, but Derek looked so lost and afraid and _guilty_ that he just couldn't help himself. He wanted to protect Derek from the bad memories but he felt so powerless.

Derek clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring him in the present, rather than the hazy, smoky past. He had one hand on Stiles' hip, digging his fingers into the flesh there and the other arm around his skinny waist, holding their bodies together and not letting go. He needed Stiles right now because Stiles could _understand_ what he was going through, how the pain would never really go away.

They stood there until Stiles' stomach started rumbling again.

"Sorry." Stiles mumbled, wincing when Derek pulled away and tried to subtly wipe his eyes. He berated his stomach for ruining their moment.

"It's ok," Derek said thickly, "It's lunch time; I could go and get takeout?"

"Don't go." Stiles blurted out before really thinking. He didn't want Derek going anywhere on his own right now. Derek would only brood and think about the fire and Kate and how it was _'his fault'_. He didn't want to let Derek out of his sight because who knew what desperate measures a depressed werewolf would resort to? "I mean, we can get it delivered, right? Unless you really want to go, in which case-"

"Sure. We can get it delivered." Derek cut him off with a small smile before the Stiles Stilinski patented blabbering could start. He still sounded a bit teary, his voice weaker than it would usually be, but he'd recovered well enough after his breakdown. He hated that he hadn't been able to hide it this time, but the smoke was too strong and too familiar and he missed his family _so much_. "We're not getting Indian, though, not after last time." He said in an attempt to lighten things up. Stiles gave a wicked chuckle.

"It's not my fault you can't handle your spices."


	4. 4 Seriously?

_Hey. I meant to upload this earlier but I got side-tracked on YouTube... _

_You know how it is - YouTube: Gotta watch 'em all._

___Also, there are a few instances of strong language here that I should probably warn you about. :)_

_Dizzy xx_

_P.S. Who doesn't love the Pokémon Centre music?_

_EDIT: This whole story (all my stories, really) are being reposted on AO3. I'm posting this notice on this chapter because this chapter is COMPLETELY different in that version. If you want to read the new version that head over there, I've got the same username. The reasons I changed it are on there, too._

_Dizzy :) xx_

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**4. Seriously?**

Stiles' phone was ringing. He knew it was ringing because the 8-bit Pokémon Centre music was playing right down his ear and making it hard to sleep. He normally loved hearing the music that reminded him of a well-spent childhood, but right now he didn't want to hear another bar of it. He groped at his dresser clumsily and squinted in the bright light of his phone screen. He almost had a coronary when he saw the Caller ID.

"Derek, you're kidding, right? It's barely light outside!" He slurred angrily, holding the phone loosely near his ear.

"Stiles, come to the house right now." Derek said, matter-of-fact. His calm tone did nothing to sooth Stiles, though, only added fuel to an already extremely annoyed fire.

"Dude, no!" He looked at the clock on his desk and groaned, "It's six thirty! It's _Saturday!_ I'm going back to-"

"Stiles, listen to me." Something in Derek's voice made Stiles wake up and take notice, made him want to obey. He wondered vaguely if it was the Alpha-vibes he was picking up on or if Derek just sounded weird today. "You need to come to the house." Maybe it was a mix of 'sounding weird' _and_ Alpha-vibes. Whatever it was, Stiles felt the need to comply. Even though he wasn't a wolf, he still had to listen to his Alpha – that was just part of being in a pack. It's like an orchestra in that sense; all the musicians (betas) have to listen to the conductor (the alpha) or everything falls apart. Stiles can't help but imagine Derek in a tailcoat tux and bowtie. _Damn, that's kind of hot..._

"I'll be there as soon as I can." And then, because Alpha or not Derek was ridiculously easy to irritate, "I'll try not to fall asleep while I'm driving. Might dampen spirits if I turn up in a body bag."

Derek growls in Stiles' ear and hangs up.

...

When Stiles pulled up in front of the Hale House 20 minutes later, Derek was waiting for him on the porch with his arms crossed and his scowl even more prominent than usual.

"Somebody's grumpy today." Stiles said with a smirk and a wink, hopping out of his Jeep and following Derek through the front door.

Being inside the Hale House always made Stiles sad. It reminded him just how much Derek had lost to the fire and to Kate Argent. His family had been singled out for no other reason than because they were werewolves and apparently there's something wrong with that. Stiles couldn't see anything wrong with being stronger and faster with better senses and kick ass fangs. Ok, he could see the hunters' point of review regarding the fangs, but the Hales never used theirs to hurt anyone so why should they die?

The House reminded Stiles of his own loss, too. It made him think of his mother and how much her death hurt him. He couldn't imagine losing his entire family, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins... The magnitude of what Derek had suffered always struck a chord with Stiles because Stiles knew how bad it was to mourn one relative. He multiplied his grief by 10 and couldn't understand how Derek had retained his sanity. Stiles would've given up by now.

He followed Derek through the house into what would have been the living room. The remnants of a sofa were sitting in the corner, bookshelves were collapsing along the walls and the ceiling was torched away in places. Everything in this room was old and charred except for the CD player in the far corner and the wireless generator it was hooked up to.

"What, karaoke?" Stiles scoffed, looking at the CD player then at Derek... And back to the CD player... And at Derek... "Ok, it's nice that you get off on being all mysterious and," he wiggled his fingers, "scary and stuff, but seriously, use your words."

"Need Scott." Derek said eventually, sitting cross legged on the floor and staring around at the room

Stiles wondered what Derek saw when he looked at this house. Would he see it for what it was – a ruin, a shell, a skeleton of what it once was – or did he look at the sofa and see Laura unwrapping presents there at Christmas, see Uncle Peter reading a newspaper and drinking tea like a perfectly sane man? Did he see his mother and father cuddled together talking about nothing in particular?

He realised he was staring at about the same time Derek did. He squashed down the urge to throw his arms around the Alpha and cry because that would be so, _so_ unfair and his clothes would stain if he bled out onto them. Instead of crawling into Derek's lap and hugging him, he sat down where he was and leant back on his arms, his legs stretched in front of him.

...

"So how long will Scott be?" Stiles asked after 20 minutes of sitting in silence. He had started by tapping his nails on the floor, but Derek had given his hand a pointed look, like he might bite it off. Then he had hummed Vivaldi under his breath, until Derek had cleared his throat loudly, glaring at him. He had tried to make conversation, tried reciting poems in his head, tried jiggling his toe almost imperceptibly, but Derek had frowned at him and told him to stop moving and shut the hell up.

"Depends," Derek replied with a shrug, "He was with Allison." He says by way of explanation.

"He was with Allison?" He looks at his watch. 7:15AM. "Why was he... Oh. Ugh... Gross." Scott had obviously gone to Allison's house last night... And there was only one reason he would still be there this morning... _Urghhhhh._

Derek just _hmm-_ed.

"He'd better get here soon, I had plans for today. I was going to-"

"Not anymore."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have plans anymore."

"What?!"

"This will take all day."

"Would you care to-?"

Then Derek was right up in his space, pressing him firmly into the floorboards with a hand clamped over his mouth. He gave Stiles a warning look and told him to stay where he was, flashing his eyes red to make sure his instructions were followed. It was unnecessary. Not even Stiles would dare disobey when Derek whipped out his Serious Face and flaunted it.

Derek slowly got to his feet and crept over to the empty window frame, peeking out and gazing into the treeline. He glanced back at Stiles and nodded approvingly when he saw that the boy hadn't moved an inch, even though his heart was beating fast from fear and his breathing was shallow.

Stiles wasn't sure what to think about this. He was staying where Derek had told him to, partially because he was the Alpha but also because he had long since learnt to take his prompts from people with better hearing and Derek had heard something out of the ordinary – something potentially dangerous.

There was a muffled bang and a whistling noise, then a solid _thunk_ as a bullet hit the wooden window frame, inches from Derek's face.

"Get down!" Stiles shouted at Derek, but it was drowned out as one bullet turned into hundreds. Splinters flew across the room as the house was torn apart by gunfire from every direction. The noise was deafening and Stiles covered his ears, not envying his wolfy senses now.

Derek was lying with him again, this time trying to shield the smaller body with his own bulk. He wasn't fully wolfed out, but Stiles could see that his teeth were sharper than usual and his eyes were red. He was on the very edge, ready to shift if anything more happened but waiting for his cue before turning wolf.

The flurry of bullets stopped just as quickly as it had started and, while everything settled, there was complete silence.

"Are you okay?" Stiles whispered, barely making any noise.

"Fine. You?"

"Fine... Thanks for..." He trailed off, gestured to Derek's body as he rolled off.

"No problem."

They both lay on the floor for a while, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, and then continued without pausing for reply. "Please tell me you didn't bring me here to get me shot at by a bunch of hunters."

"It's not... Not hunters..." He paused to sniff the air surreptitiously then crawled over to the window again. "I think it might be... It might be the pixies..."

"Seriously? Pixies have _guns_? Like, proper assault rifles? Because they weren't pistols or hand guns, they were heavy duty guns, Derek. Who would want you dead this much?" He glanced over at the wolf, who was now pacing in front of the sofa, rubbing his forehead with both hands. "Well, apart from anyone who's met you, obviously...?" The last sentence caused Derek to whip around and shoot daggers at him. _Damn, if looks could kill._ But Stiles couldn't feel remorseful about it, so he just smirked instead.

There was an abrupt clattering near the front window that made Stiles leap up from the floor and skitter away from the noise. He turned just in time to see something round bouncing off the frame and into the room. It looked like a rock, but it was far too uniform. It was symmetrical and oval in shape. Stiles took a step closer to look but then Derek was shouting and pulling his wrist back so that they staggered into one another.

"Grenade!"

_Shit, shit, shit, fuckballs, crapbags, buggering bastard pixies!_

...

Stiles was drifting. One second he was lying on wooden floorboards with something pressing the back of his head gently and the next he was in a candy-coloured dreamland that resembled a Katy Perry music video. Derek featured in both realities, in various stages of nudity.

As his mind slowly tipped back to _'conscious'_, he started to remember what had happened. Bullets and pixies and Derek, then a grenade and an explosion. He remembered flying through the air, then pure agony. Seeing the blood from his head then... Whatever this was.

His vision started to focus again and the sharp, high pitched ringing was replaced by a lot of soft reassurances and urgent repetitions of his name. Derek was about a foot away from his face, his eyes back to their usual green. The pixies must be gone then; otherwise he would be fully wolfed out, possibly in his Alpha form. Stiles decided he hates the pixies, the cowards. Twice they'd tried to kill him and twice they'd run off straight away.

His cheek was being patted and cupped by a large, warm hand and he couldn't help but lean into it a bit, it felt so good to be touched like this... It was... intimate. Somehow.

"Thank God," Derek sighed when Stiles started blinking again. He leant forwards and rested his head against Stiles' shoulder, content to breathe in his scent and listen to his heart.

"Urrgh, it's a dream." Stiles slurred out. This couldn't be reality because Derek sounded worried and he was voluntarily touching him. Dream-Derek was doing what Stiles' brain wanted him to. Hmm. What else did he want Derek to do?

"I want you... to kiss me," he said, definitely sure of that much. He wanted more than that, for sure, but it felt weird telling Dream-Derek that he wanted his dick. Small steps first.

But Derek didn't react how a figment of imagination should. He didn't kiss Stiles, didn't pull his head back to tongue at his neck, didn't pounce on him and lick into his mouth to devour him. He actually _pulled back_ looking shocked and a bit scared...

_Oh crap. This isn't a dream, is it? Ah, fuck..._

"You... hit your head pretty hard, Stiles..." Derek said slowly, his voice low and husky. Yes, he wanted Stiles, he wanted _everything_ from Stiles but it was unfair to take it from him, even more so while he was practically delusional from a head wound. He wouldn't give in to his visceral _need_ for Stiles' body.

"Yeah... Am I... Am I still bleeding?" Stiles asked, pressing a hand again his head and whimpering slightly when it came away red. Yep, he'd hit has head _very_ hard. He watched unashamedly as Derek pulled his t-shirt off and pressed it against the wound to staunch the flow. It was much easier to ignore the pain, Stiles found, when he had such a wonderful distraction right in front of him, so he reached out and touched Derek's abs. His skin was surprisingly smooth and hot to the touch. It was nice.

He looked up and saw Derek staring at him, eyes red and pupils blown wide. He was breathing heavily and watching intently as Stiles licked his lips the tiniest bit. This is exactly where they both wanted to be, right here, and that knowledge encouraged Stiles to drag his hand up to past Derek's chest to his shoulder. He liked how Derek shuddered under his fingers.

The front door banged open again, though, and Stiles snatched his hands back to himself.

Scott charged through the door muttering apologies about taking so long and that he couldn't find clean underwear (Stiles decided he didn't want to know), until he stopped dead at the entrance to the living room. He looked around and his eyebrows disappeared behind his hairline. Objectively, Stiles knew that this must be a seriously weird scene to walk in on.

First of all there was the fact that there was now a huge hole in the floorboards where the grenade had exploded. They were pretty lucky that it hadn't caught fire, but it had done enough damage without flames as well. Secondly, there were the splinters and bullets that were littering the floor like leaves and conkers in autumn. Finally, there was the fact that Stiles was lying on his back, his head still bleeding slightly, with Derek Hale crouched over him half naked and snarling, eyes red from a fast heartbeat.

Not exactly the epitome of normal, even for Beacon Hills.

"Pixies!" Stiles shouted then started babbling to relieve the tension in the room, "Pixies, they attacked with guns and grenades, can you _believe_ that? They tried to blow us up but we flew instead and I hit my head, Derek was trying to stop the bleeding wit his shirt, but we're not here for this, we're here for that," he pointed at the CD player which had been far enough away to be jostled by the explosion, but not thrown about like everything else. "Because there was... I dunno."

Scott looked at the two of them again, hearing elevated heart rates and quickened breathing, saw Derek's eyes only just bleeding back to green, saw how Stiles' hands were hovering awkwardly near his stomach. And Derek was _half naked_.

"Pixies?" He said with a smirk, "Suuuuure."


	5. 5 Mate

_Garrett... Reminds me of Andrew Scott's Moriarty, just a little._

_Dizzy xx_

_P.S. Guess what the next chapter is? (Hint: It's the conclusion!)_

_P.P.S. I have no idea if Pomegranate Peach Frappuccino's are a thing. I've never been to Starbucks._

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**5. Mate**

"My head hurts," Stiles whinged at anyone who was listening, e.g. no one, "I think I might still be delirious. Everything's a bit fuzzy around the edges. Oh my God, Scott, call the police! I think there's a wolf outside! Oh, hey, Derek's back!" He started mindlessly giggling as the rest of the pack stood up to welcome said wolf. "Hey Derek." He whispered when the wolf nuzzled its nose into his hand slightly. "Looking good. Fur really suits you." The wolf rolled its eyes then wandered into the next room.

They were clustered in another of the rooms of Derek's house; one of the ones at the back with very little in the way of walls or ceilings. If Stiles were to guess, the fire must have started under either this room of the one next to it and burnt away the entire back wall. It was actually quite nice in the summer heat because there was a slight breeze moving through the house, blowing away the smell of rot and ash.

Stiles himself was lying on his side on a couch in the room, sinking into the plush cushions and talking about whatever came into his head: MJ from Spiderman, binary coding (baffling everyone but Danny, who told him binary was necessary for almost everything technological), the pros and cons of baseball as a high school sport and castrato singers (that had all the boys in the room looking pale and a bit nauseated, while the girls tried not to laugh). Yes, perhaps he'd hit his head a bit harder than any of them had thought.

Derek had gone to look around the woods to see if the pixies were definitely gone, taking only Boyd as backup because apparently he didn't want to be too intimidating, he just wanted to ask them to leave ("Yeeeeeah, because a huge black wolf and an equally huge wolfed-out Boyd are totally unthreatening, well done Sourwolf.").

Apparently the pixies had already left the area though because the pair came back looking discouraged but unharmed. Boyd had already shifted back from his beta form and was sitting with Erica resting on his shoulder in the corner, but Derek went somewhere private. He had to be naked when he shifted to his Alpha form because a shaggy black wolf wearing jeans and a Henley just wasn't the look Derek was going for.

When he returned though, he was fully dressed in black, head to army-boot-clad toes. Stiles groaned from the couch.

"You know, Derek, you should wear some kind of colour. Like... Red! To match your Angry-Alpha-Eyes. You could totally pull that off." He said closing his eyes to picture it. He hummed appreciatively.

"Has he been like this since we left?" Derek asked, pointing a finger at Stiles. Everyone nodded, muttering that they would've rather been in the woods hunting pixies. Stiles pouted and frowned.

"He's not _so much_ different to normal..." Allison said, in an attempt to spare Stiles' feelings that completely backfired. Stiles sat up and leant his head gingerly back onto the cushion. He'd stopped bleeding and Scott had done his best to clean the shallow wound but _God_ it hurt. Who knew bookshelves were so solid? Isaac shuffled over and sat next to him, huddling into his side and tucking his magical curls into Stiles' neck. Derek eyed them curiously, his jaw set unhappily.

"Why are we here, Derek?" Lydia cut in, blunt as ever. Derek grunted a bit and pressed play on the CD player that someone had brought through from the grenade-d room. A man's voice played through the speakers. It had a cold and detached tone, and Stiles recognised a hint of Alpha-vibes. The voice reminded him of how Peter had been before Derek killed him, softly spoken, psychotic, with a point to prove. It was a scary mixture that made Stiles shiver and hold Isaac tighter. The rest of the pack looked equally unsettled.

_"I send my regards to the Hale pack. I wish to meet your Alpha. Bring your strongest pack mate, Derek Hale. Meet me at 415 Beaumont Street, seventeenth of August, midnight." _

...

Five minutes later, Lydia and Jackson had been dispatched to get 10 cups of coffee and something sugary ("I don't care what. Ooh actually, maybe those new Cinnamon Swirl things they have at Starbucks or their raspberry muffins, oh my God, seriously they're orgasmic, but not as good as their rocky road, honestly it's like-" "_Okay, _Stiles."), while Allison and Danny went to fetch the latter's laptop. Scott tagged along with them because obviously he and Allison couldn't be over 3 feet away from each other for more than 20 seconds.

Derek was in the furthest corner on his phone to an Alpha in Idaho that Laura had known, asking quietly if he knew of any rogues in the area. Stiles couldn't really make out what he was saying, but he looked serious and a little bit resigned, frowning but nodding. No good news there, whatever it was.

...

"But you have to take into account their size, as well, like height- and weight-wise or you can't make a proper judgement." Stiles was talking to the room about his wild theories. He knew no one was really listening, but Isaac kept making little noises of agreement into Stiles' neck which were all the encouragement he needed. "Batman's about 3 inches taller, but Bane makes up for it in muscle mass. Think about it, can you imagine Batman physically dominating Bane? No. That's why Bane would top."

"What about Poison Ivy?" Erica asked, turning to face Stiles.

"Well that's different, because she has the spirit that would be needed to tame Bane, as shown in _Batman and Robin_. It's not Tom Hardy's Bane, so it's not a proper comparison but she definitely has character. She'd almost certainly call the shots. Harley Quinn and The Joker, though, that's the most interesting relationship in DC because of the abuse thing..."

...

Everyone was sick of Stiles' voice by the time Lydia, Jackson, Allison, Danny and Scott returned so they distracted him with rocky road and a hideously coloured pomegranate peach frappuccino that seemed to actually offend Derek. He glared at it as he sipped his plain black coffee. Stiles sucked at the straw and winked at him.

"So what do we do?" Scott asked when he noticed that Derek seemed incapable of talking.

"I'm looking up the address now," Danny said, tapping away at his laptop, "It's over on the East side of town, right on the outskirts. Everything that way looks pretty wrecked, all smashed windows and abandoned buildings... It's a warehouse. We could surround it then send Derek and Boyd in?"

"Isn't he an Alpha though? Wouldn't he know?" Allison asked. She'd grabbed her smallest crossbow from her car and was cleaning the mechanisms carefully. Stiles had noticed over the months that she has a kind of routine when it comes to pre-fight maintenance of her weapons. It's almost ritualistic how she polishes her arrows and bolts, then the handle, then the string, then all the fiddly bits that Stiles didn't have a name for.

"Yes." Derek finally contributed, swigging down the last of his coffee. "He'll know you're there." He set his cup on the floor and started pacing around the edges of the room like he was trapped. "And I'm not taking Boyd."

Boyd nodded and accepted the verdict. He was a good beta and would listen to, and trust, whatever his Alpha said. Erica, however, was not like that.

"Are you kidding? He wanted you and your strongest pack mate. That's obviously Boyd." She said with such finality that it was hard to disagree with. Hard, but not impossible. Both Scott and Jackson object, moaning that they're just as strong until Derek calls them to order.

"Physically, you are all strong." Stiles rolled his eyes. It sounded like consolation for losing the Miss America competition or something. What do we want? Supernatural world peace, please. He went back to slurping at his drink and tapping rhythms on the plastic cup. The others have this covered. "But that's not what we need."

"What if he's not... agreeable. What if he fights?" Danny asks, leaning back from his laptop and frowning at the screen.

" He won't fight." Derek states, obviously sure of himself. Three of his betas start to contradict him. "_But_, I'm fairly sure I could take him."

"But why not take Boyd? Make sure?" Allison asks, pinging the string of her bow and looking satisfied with it.

"I'm strong enough. End of story." Derek answered, Alpha-vibes buzzing madly. "I'm taking Stiles."

Stiles let the straw fall out of his mouth as he gaped at Derek.

_Everyone_ starts to object.

"Are you insane?"

"_Stiles_?"

"What the hell?"

"He's not strong. No offense, man."

"Offense taken, _man_."

"Him_? Seriously?!"_

Derek lets out a seriously scary growl, teeth bared, eyes red and snarling. All the wolves hang their heads and look at the floor, Isaac whines in Stiles' ear, Stiles wraps his arms tighter around Isaac, frowning at Derek and Danny grabs his laptop like it's a life jacket, or a shield.

"Dude, chill the fuck out!" Stiles spat out at him, the only person in the room not scared by Derek's posturing. Derek would never seriously hurt any of them unless there was no other option and him growling when the pack had questioned one of his decisions was not okay. "Explain." He commanded. Everyone stared at him, mouths open. Yep, he was surprised too. He'd given the Alpha an order – he was damn lucky his windpipe was still intact.

"Okay," Derek muttered to the floor, not making eye contact with Stiles. Lydia was looking at Stiles with a contemplative expression, like she was trying to figure him out, then her face cracked open with a huge smile, brilliant and dazzling, just a small reminder of why Stiles had pined after her for so long. "I'm strong enough to take down this Alpha. Laura's friend in Idaho confirmed that. I don't need physical strength, I need strategy and support. I need Stiles."

Stiles very much likes the sound of that. Derek _needs_ him. He doesn't bother trying to hide his happy grin, lets it take over his face as he takes another sip and looks at Derek, Derek who apparently needs Stiles.

"So what's the plan, then?" Jackson asks impatiently, looking more than a little stung that he's suddenly lower on Derek's list than Stiles.

"Me and Stiles go to the warehouse on Saturday," Derek replies with a shrug, leaning casually against the charred doorframe. "We talk to this Alpha, ask him to leave. If he doesn't, we kill him before he kills us."

"Sounds like a great plan," Stiles rolls his eyes, suddenly not so impressed that Derek chose him now that actual death is an option.

...

Saturday comes around much too fast for Stiles. A few days ago he had been nicely sleeping in his bed, then he got a call at some ungodly hour demanding his presence at Derek's house, then he was attacked by pixies and suddenly he's being sent into an abandoned warehouse with nothing but Derek for protection. Oh, and his dad's spare handgun that he commandeered before he left, loaded up with silver bullets that he's... uh... borrowed... from the Argents.

What has his life become?

He and Derek creep through the front doors of the warehouse at exactly midnight. Stiles can see how tense Derek is – listening for any hint of trouble, sniffing at the air, darting his eyes into the darkest corners of the building, looking for any sign of their rogue Alpha.

"Nothing. He's not here." Derek sighs, frustrated that he can't even get a sense of what they're up against.

"Just can't get the right type of psychotic, murderous Alpha werewolf," Stiles said mockingly, rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue.

"Funny." Derek moves closer to Stiles and lowers his voice. "When he gets here, you need to be careful. Don't get all-"

The doors open behind them and they whirl around to see a man with light brown, slicked back hair standing in the doorway, posture calm and casual with his hands in his trouser pockets. He's wearing a sharp black suit, which seems strange to Stiles. Maybe he missed the memo. The suit fits in all the right places, pulling tight over his chest and arms. He looks good. He's a few years older than Derek, probably in his early thirties but his face looks tired, as though the world has treated him badly. Stiles feels a pang on sympathy, but it disappears quickly when he sees the man's eyes.

They're glowing red, yes, but that's not what startles Stiles, he'd actually gotten used to seeing glowing eyes all over the place. Seriously, when did that happen? What's shocking is the expression of malice, of cruel intent that foreshadows agonising pain, the way they light up with amusement when they look Stiles up and down, like this is a game. The similarities to Peter make Stiles' stomach jolt.

"This is your strongest pack mate?" He smirks a little as he takes a few steps closer to them, letting the doors swing shut behind him. The warehouse is dark now with only the emergency lights and the Alpha's eyes still glowing. "Clever, Mister Hale. Figured you could beat me? Needed the moral support more than the physical? He is handsome, I'll give you that."

Stiles almost chokes on his own spit. He's in a room with two of the most ripped werewolves he's ever seen and they are discussing his physical attractiveness like it's the weather. He kind of wants to crawl into a corner and hide from them.

"Who are you?" Derek asks angrily, stepping diagonally forwards so he's slightly in front of Stiles.

"You," he points to Derek, "can call me Garrett. But you," Garrett turns his attention to Stiles, eyes flaring impossibly brighter, "You can call me anything you like." He winks and licks his lips suggestively.

Derek growls and sinks into a half-crouch, his nails extending and sharpening.

"Half the names I have for you aren't suitable for polite conversation, dickwad." Stiles throws back instinctively, realising a second too late that it might not be a good idea to taunt an angry, determined Alpha. "Derek." He drops his hand onto _his_ Alpha's shoulder and pulls him back slightly, unsurprised when he's shrugged off.

"Does he know?" Garrett asks nonchalantly, directing the question Derek. "Does he know his role in the pack?" His lips turn up into that same smirk as he glances at Stiles who is trying not to show his confusion. Garrett is your standard bully – just trying to get a rise out of his victims. Admittedly most of the people who picked on Stiles in school weren't as pointy and vicious as Garrett, but the concept is the same. Don't react; they'll get bored and drift away. "He doesn't!" Garret gasps and points at them. "Can I tell him? Or can I _steal _him? You obviously don't want him if you haven't claimed him..."

Stiles' hand itches towards the holster he's wearing under his shirt. He's getting sick of this Garrett guy talking in riddles and not getting to the point, but could he actually shoot him for confusing people with words? Isn't that Stiles' very own MO?

Derek is mightily pissed off as well, growling and snarling and baring his teeth.

"You really have grown up, Derek. Last time I saw you, you were twelve years old and couldn't control your shifts properly."

"That was a long time ago," Derek grumbles around his elongated teeth. Stiles tries not to think about Derek's lisp – he knows that both the Alphas in the room will be able to hear his heart hammering away in his ribcage. "My family were still alive... As was Haley."

The effect of Derek's words is instantaneous. Garrett's cool, calm facade drops away and he lets his nails and teeth grow, literally howling at the sky. The noise bounces off the corrugated ceiling and the concrete floor, going round and round and the sound is so sad, so despairing and anguished that when it's finished reverberating, Stiles can barely bring himself to ask.

"Who was Haley?" He whispers, his voice sounding broken even to him.

"She was my mate!" Garrett snaps. When he doesn't elaborate, Stiles gives Derek a questioning glance.

"Haley," Derek starts after clearing his throat. "Haley was killed by hunters. She wasn't a wolf... They used her to lure Garrett in... Then slashed her throat... right in front of him..." He finishes quietly.

Stiles doesn't know what makes him do it, he really doesn't, maybe it was some basic need to try and comfort Garrett or maybe he just has a death wish, but he slowly steps around Derek to move closer to the heartbroken Alpha. Derek grabs his arm as he walks past through, trying to pull him back and away from the threat. Stiles pulls away.

"I know what it's like," Stiles begins, his voice hoarse and low, "To lose someone important. Admittedly I lost my mother, not my mate, but I know how hard it is. Derek does too, you know that." He looks directly into Garrett's eyes, trying to ignore the hatred and the pain and the _red_. "It hurts. It hurts fucking _loads_. We know that. We understand."

"Stiles..." Derek says urgently, grabbing his wrist again and holding on.

"Wait." He murmurs over his shoulder, lacing their fingers together. He needs something to anchor him right now. "My mother used to say this thing and I never really understood it, I was like eight when she died, but... Yeah, she used to say '_spring will always come'_. And I never got it, because of course spring comes every year, but that wasn't what she meant. She meant that things _always_ get better. Even if it's been a particularly long, hard winter – animals and crops dying, hypothermia, snow, the whole business – spring will always come, things will get better again. You just have to trust that, Garrett."

Garrett's eyes blaze crimson again and he roars, throwing himself at Stiles and yanking him away from Derek's strong hand. Stiles doesn't even have time to properly panic before his back is pulled against Garrett's chest and he has claws pressing against his throat. He will deny, to the grave, that he squealed.

"You let him speak like this?" Garrett growls next to his ear, sending shivers shooting down his spine.

Everything in the warehouse is silent and absolutely still for half a minute. No one moves, Garrett doesn't seem to be breathing, Stiles is deafened by his own elevated, thumping heartbeat and Derek's eyes look oddly watery. The sight of Derek so vulnerable combined with memories of his mother and the fact that he may be about to die makes Stiles' own eyes fill with tears, warping his view of the warehouse.

"Garrett, please." Stiles hears Derek say imploringly, sounding breathless and croaky. "Garrett... You lost your mate..."

Derek's words must carry more weight for wolves than for humans, because Garrett's claws are gone from his neck and he's pushed back towards Derek, who catches him and holds him close, cradling his head with one hand, the other around his waist. Stiles holds on, too, his face buried in Derek's neck.

They stay like that until they hear a mournful howl in the distance.

...

It's safe to say that between the panic of the last few days, the goddamn pixies and nearly having his throat torn out, Stiles is exhausted when Derek drops him back home. He stumbles out of the Camaro and walks towards his porch, only realising the Derek is shadowing him when he trips on the steps and two strong hands grab him and set him upright. He fumbles with the keys for a few seconds before Derek takes them, deftly slots it in and swings the door open.

"Listen," Derek says quietly once Stiles is inside, "Would you mind if I stayed tonight? You're on his radar now..."

"Come in the window," Stiles answers, gesturing his hand at the second storey. Derek nods, but says he'll move the car first, just in case.

...

By the time that Stiles has changed, brushed his teeth and returned to his bedroom, Derek is sat in his desk chair staring out the window at the moon and looking sadder than Stiles has ever seen him. He watches for a moment, wishing he could do something to make Derek happy, but there's nothing.

"You should go to sleep, it's late," Derek says, without looking round at him.

"Come on, then," Stiles agrees, trying to sound cheerful, but failing by about 94%. He walks over to the bed and flops on the side nearest the wall, patting the covers next to him when he sees Derek hasn't moved and is just staring at the bed.

"With you?"

"Yes, with me. Come on, I'm tired." Stiles whines, falling back onto the pillows dramatically. "Come on, puppy." He says softly, cajolingly, stroking the duvet. He smiles in victory as he feels Derek lying awkwardly next to him, fully clothed, even with his jacket on. "Derek?" He says quietly, after a moment of reflection.

"Stiles?" Derek replies, mimicking his tone perfectly. It makes Stiles smile.

"Um... You..." He clears his throat. "You really think I'm pack?" He blurts out without properly thinking it through. He feels Derek tense up next to him and squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I never really counted myself as pack, so I won't be disappointed if you say no, but I was just wondering because Garrett said bring your strongest pack mate and you said you were taking me, like taking me to the warehouse, not _taking _me taking me, obviously, because that's like... Yeah. So I was shocked because I didn't think I was _pack_, let alone _strong pack_... So yeah. Never mind, forget it."

Derek says nothing for a few minutes, only lies in silence. Stiles doesn't dare open his eyes on the basis that what he doesn't see can't hurt him and if he saw rejection on Derek's face... Well, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Stiles," Derek says carefully, picking over his words, "Of course you're pack. How can you not know that by now?"

Stiles felt the movement as Derek moved closer to him, close enough for their arms to touch and their feet to brush together. He felt better, like knowing his Alpha was right there and not running away or leaving him behind was calming his nerves. It was soothing and he could feel himself drifting. Part of him wanted to sleep – perhaps get in his first proper night of rest since the whole Pixie Palaver a few days ago – but the other part, the dominant part, wanted desperately to finish this conversation and figure out what his _'role in the pack'_ is, as Garrett had put it.

"I figured... I wasn't needed. Not a wolf, not a fighter, just... Me. Useless." He mumbled, knowing that this probably sounded like a pity party, but oh well. _Maybe it _is _a pity party. _

"You're not useless, Stiles."

"You have to say that."

"No, I really don't." Derek could smell Stiles' insecurity and it was choking him. He's never had to deal with a member of his pack being insecure of their position before. There's always been a hint of inferiority-complex in Stiles, but Derek had no idea that it was this bad – so bad that Stiles didn't think of himself as pack. His wolf whined and reached out to comfort Stiles, so he rolled onto his side and pulled the boy close, wrapping his arms around his waist and ignoring the indignant noises.

"What _are_ you doing?" Stiles hissed half-heartedly, letting himself be tucked up into Derek's arms. It felt better than it should, being pressed against hard chest muscles and smelling Derek's very own personal cologne, so he didn't wriggle away or lash out, he relaxed into it, feeling a large hand moving to clasp his hip. He sighed, content. This is where he wanted to be, after all – not just now or for the night... Forever.

"This is what packs do. We take comfort in touch."

Stiles was quickly leaving consciousness now, so he couldn't help it when he said:

"Is that why I want to kiss you all the time?" It sounded distorted, even to his own ears, and he prayed to all the gods that Derek wouldn't be able to make out what he had said.

Not that what he said wasn't true, just that a man as unattainable and out of his league as Derek didn't need to know how he felt. He would wake up in the morning, claim that he didn't remember – blame exhaustion, the head wound, drugs, anything he could to get away from it. That was the plan. Until he felt Derek squeeze him tighter and nuzzle into his neck, leaving tingling marks on his skin and he forgot why he was even thinking about pretending.

"Go to sleep Stiles." Derek whispered into his ear, catching it with his lips. "Sleep."

So he did.


	6. 6 Mine

_Author's Note at the end of this chapter :)_

**That Pivotal Moment**

**(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)**

**6. Mine**

Derek is pissed off. Not least of all because Stiles has insisted on planning a pack party on the last weekend of the summer holidays, at _Derek's_ apartment, with _Derek's _money, but entirely without _Derek's _permission. Sure, he had allowed himself to be dragged to the supermarket to buy endless spring rolls and garlic mushrooms and curly fries but only because Stiles had taken him by surprise first thing in the morning.

Besides, how could he say no when that mouth was being all pouty and so fucking _kissable_?

That mouth (and all the things he could do to it) has been the basis of Derek's fantasies all summer and it's getting to the point that he'll have to physically restrain himself if he has to stare at it any longer. So, yes, he went shopping on the basis that Stiles would stop doing tempting things with his mouth.

Which he didn't. Because, of course, who wouldn't want to try the free samples and ice cream and cheese and the fucking cocktail sausages that nearly gave Derek an aneurysm? And who wouldn't want to make the filthiest noises on Earth when said samples were good?

But that shopping trip was over fairly quickly and now Stiles is flitting about Derek's apartment like he owns the place, stringing up fairy lights, putting cloths on tables, chattering constantly about the girls' plans for makeovers before hand and Isaac's objections that he wouldn't be fun at a party as well as another million things that Derek can't concentrate on because Stiles looks _edible._

He's wearing a plain navy blazer with a white T-Shirt underneath, blue converse and black jeans that make his ass look fantastic. Derek keeps catching himself staring and eventually retreats to the kitchen, a safe distance from Stiles and any ass-related thoughts.

...

Three hours later and Derek has to admit that this party isn't going as horribly as he'd imagined.

He'd been basing him assumptions of what it would be like from the (admittedly limited) parties he had gone to when he was a teenager. Before the fire... before Kate... he used to be invited everywhere. Everyone wanted Derek Hale at their parties, if only to gloat to their friends that he chose _them_ to socialise with. He rarely accepted invitations, but when he did he was constantly surrounded by girls trying to dance with him and flirt with him.

Back then, parties had been stifling and he always left early, but tonight no one is crowding him (apart from Stiles, which he doesn't mind that one bit), no one is leering at him (apart from Lydia, but it's more... knowing than predatory) and Boyd turned the music down as soon as he arrived. It's... nice.

So nice, in fact, that he's been lulled into a false sense of security and feels like banging his head against the wall repeatedly when someone grabs a bottle and his pack start sitting in a circle on the floor. Derek hangs back, sitting on the stairs by the door and Isaac joins him a few seconds later muttering about not wanting to ruin his first kiss, which Derek thinks is so _Isaac_ that he doesn't question it, but lets the pup lean against him.

Derek would never pick favourites in his pack but... Isaac is his favourite. Calm, quiet, embraces the idea of pack. A friend, not just a beta. But he's not all that Derek needs. Derek needs a smart mouth to tell him when he's being a dick, bright eyes to look out for him...

Bright eyes that are gazing at him, as he gazes right back.

Stiles looks away as soon as Lydia leans forward to spin the empty coke bottle. The room seems to hold its breath until it finally glides to a halt, neck pointing directly at Boyd and everyone cheers. Lydia raises her eyebrows at Erica, who just gestures her forward. Derek practically _hears_ her saying 'go ahead, sister, sharing is caring!'

Their kiss is fairly chaste, compared to what Boyd and Erica normally get up to and there's not much fuss about it, Lydia sits back next to Jackson and Erica leans over to kiss Boyd.

"Hmm, I can taste her on you," Erica says as she leans in again, "I quite like that."

(Derek didn't know at the time, but that kiss between Lydia and Boyd will eventually lead to a happy open relationship between Erica, Boyd and anyone who cares to join them. Derek will always ignore how much Peter sometimes smells like Erica.)

The game moves on and every time the bottle approaches Stiles, Derek wills it to keep moving, hoping to God that no one tries to even touch Stiles. But, obviously, the universe likes to throw all of Derek's hopes right back in his face with a side dish of 'you never thought of this, but here you go'.

Danny. Of course it would be Danny, the one guy playing the game that Stiles could actually date because they're both into guys. _Of fucking course_.

Danny literally saunters over to Stiles and _straddles him_, kneels over his crossed legs and rests his hands on Stiles' shoulders like they have any right at all to be there. He leans in slowly and...

"Derek, you okay?" Isaac whispers right next to Derek's ear.

Stiles makes a tiny noise – like a whimper – and Danny starts to kiss him in earnest, tongue working his mouth and deepening the kiss, pressing closer and touching everywhere he can reach . Stiles lifts his hands and fists them in Danny's hair. Someone wolf-whistles.

"Derek? Are you alright?" Isaac asks, sounding concerned.

Danny breaks away for a second mutters something that sounds appreciative and then pushes him down against the floor. Stiles immediately goes for his neck, licking a trail up the tendons, eliciting a groan and a blissed-out look from Danny. Scott clears his throat and Jackson looks awkwardly at Lydia, who is staring sympathetically at Derek.

Isaac says his name again, sounding terrified, and Derek finally stops watching Stiles, _his_ Stiles making out with Danny on his apartment floor. He looks at Isaac instead, who flinches back. Derek ignores Danny's noises long enough to feel his sharp fangs protruding over his lips and realise that his claws are digging grooves into the wooden steps and that rumbling? Yep, that's him, on his way to full on I'm-going-to-kill-someone-how-dare-he-touch-what's -mine Alpha mode.

Lydia clears her throat loudly and stands up. Just like that, Danny and Stiles jerk apart and look guiltily around the room. Derek can feel Stiles' eyes on him as he tries to get the shift under control and rein his teeth back in, or at least stop his eyes glowing so he can stand in a corner and blend into the shadows or something.

"Not that that wasn't fun," Lydia says loudly, clapping her hands together, "but perhaps we should do something else?"

Derek makes a mental note to buy Lydia something nice and completely useless as he and Isaac stand up. He checks that all his claws are back in his fingers before marching stiffly out of the apartment. He needs to put some room between him and Danny, before he tears the guy's head off.

...

_It's not their fault._ Derek tells himself as he runs towards the forest. _They don't know. They don't understand._

If anything, it's Derek's fault and he knows that. If he was so against seeing Stiles with anyone else then he should've told him how he was feeling instead of running away like the coward he is.

As soon as he reaches the tree line, he goes full wolf, let's the animal take over and runs on pure instinct. He tears through the trees and relishes the feeling of dirt under his paws, the smell of pine, the sound of the wind whistling past his ears as he races through, running harder than he ever has in an attempt to drown out the world.

_Stiles. His mate, Stiles._

He stops dead as the single human thought smashes its way into his mind.

He throws back his head and howls.

...

By dawn, his howls have died down to feeble whines as he crawls back to where he left his clothes. He shifts back to human reluctantly, knowing that he'll have to go back to his apartment and face whatever is waiting for him. He hopes that someone sensible like Isaac or Boyd will have taken the initiative and sent everyone home eventually, but his pack isn't known for being sensible and he's pretty sure he'll have to deal with at least one person he doesn't want to see.

Sure enough, when he drags himself up the stairs and into the unlocked apartment, Stiles is sat leaning against the pillar closest to the door under Derek's duvet, his lips parted slightly. Derek takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Stiles in his bedding before he shuts the front door and makes his way to the kitchen.

"We're gonna have to talk about this eventually," Stiles mumbles from behind him, voice still hoarse and hazy from sleep.

"Go back to sleep." He says over his shoulder. Stiles shuts up. Derek assumes he's dozed off again because there's no way Stiles would let himself be ordered around like that otherwise. Lydia is sat at the breakfast bar with a pot of coffee when he reaches the kitchen so Derek grabs a mug and pours himself some, not making eye contact with her. He leans on the counter and looks out of the window, pretending not to feel her laser-eyes boring into the back of his head.

"He'd understand if you told him," she says casually, taking another sip of her coffee, "Actually I think he kind of... wants it."

Derek isn't stupid. He knows when he's rumbled and, honestly, he's not surprised that Lydia figured it out, she's anything but an idiot. Besides, he's kind of glad it's Lydia he's talking to about this; Derek trusts her to give him her honest opinion, not matter what it is or how bitchy it sounds. But she's not a wolf, she doesn't understand how the mating bond works, she can't possibly know how much his wolf wanted to hurt Danny last night for touching what is his – make an example of him to warn others away.

"You're not a wolf."

"No, but I'm no fool either," she blows gently on her coffee. Derek can't disagree with her on that front. Lydia is smart as a whip; she could even give Laura a run for her money, but that would involve the two of them in a room together and may end in world domination. "Look, I'm not going to tell him but you definitely should or Danny will take him and lock him in a tower for his own personal use." Derek growls but she only laughs and hops down from her stool. "Stiles wants _you_, not Danny. You should've seen him after you left. He went crazy. Check your phone."

He stands alone in the kitchen for a while until he sighs, perches on Lydia's empty chair and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans, which have been hung over a tree branch all night as he crashed through the woods.

_17 missed calls. 11 voice mails. 15 texts. _

He scrolls through the texts slowly, growing more and more... amused? All fifteen are from Stiles, starting out with 'Where are you?' moving to 'Get your furry ass back here now!' accompanied by varied and increasingly violent threats, and then onto 'Please, Derek, come back home.' Which nearly has him whining again, yearning to go through to his mate and lie down with him; apologise that he's such a bad person for running.

All the calls are from Stiles, too, the most recent coming in just over an hour ago. He can hear the sounds of the party in the background of the first few but it eventually dies down until it's just Stiles' exhausted voice, begging and apologising and letting out frustrated sighs.

Derek answers with his own sigh.

"Yeah, I was a bit worried."

He swivels around and sees Stiles leaning against the door frame nonchalantly, looking at the phone in Derek's hand and biting his lip.

"Why?" Is all that he can think to say. He's not even sure what he means by it: 'why did you kiss Danny?', 'why were you worried?', 'why are you here?'... He wants answers to all of them but, for now, it's just... why?

"Dude," Stiles glares at him and starts pacing around the kitchen island, tapping his fingers on every surface he passes, "You just _left_, you didn't even stick around to talk about it, you just disappeared! You were out all night, you weren't answering your phone, what if... What if the hunters-?" He stops suddenly and Derek can hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Purely on impulse, he stands up to go and hug Stiles, his _mate_, who he has made feel completely miserable and scared and worried with one dick move in the spur of the moment.

Isaac bounds into the kitchen when he's still a metre or so away from Stiles.

"So, what are we going to do today?" Isaac asks, pouring himself coffee and going to stand with Stiles, who steals a sip before handing it back and starting to talk quickly about needing to be home to cook for his dad, something about holiday work he's not started yet. Derek forces his hands back to his sides and steps away again, watching Stiles talking. What he's _saying _isn't out of the ordinary, but how he's saying it worries Derek. The tone is all wrong, he sounds sad, he's not flailing at all. It's not _Stiles._

"Are you okay?" Isaac asks quietly, standing directly between them with his back to Derek.

"Yes. I'm fine." Stiles whispers. His heartbeat goes crazy. Isaac whines in his throat and Derek can imagine the expression he's wearing, all sad and puppy dog. "Seriously, I'm fine." With that, he strides out of the kitchen muttering about really needing to get home to start cooking, even though it's barely 10AM. A few seconds later, they hear the front door close quietly behind him.

...

"Well, may I be the first to tell you that you screwed that up, big time," Lydia walks back into the kitchen a few seconds after Stiles' departure with the most condescending look Derek has ever seen. "But it's ok, Derek." She adds, obviously seeing how hopeless and forlorn he looks.

"What's going on?" Isaac asks, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, of course not, honey. Derek's just really hurt Stiles' feelings, is all." Lydia answers matter-of-factly. Derek growls, because that's what he does when faced with a truth that he really doesn't like. He denies it.

"He kissed Danny first," he grumbles.

"Yes, in a game of spin the bottle. And, hey, Danny is hot and a fantastic kisser, as is Stiles, incidentally, so sue them for enjoying it. Maybe if you'd got your act together sooner-"

"This is _not my fault_."

"Derek this is entirely your fault! You ran away when-"

"Please don't argue..." Isaac says. They both look at him guiltily. "What's going on?"

"Stiles is Derek's mate," Lydia answers immediately, "Oh, please, stop growling Derek, everyone's going to know soon enough. Anyway, Derek got a bit angry when Danny kissed Stiles, so he ran away from the issue and spent the night romping around the woods by the look of him. In the process he drove Stiles marginally insane by ignoring all his calls and texts and annoyed me with his albeit reasonable, but no less frustrating, emotional issues." She levels Derek with a cold glare. "Did I miss anything?"

Derek can only shake his head. It's finally sinking in just how much damage he did by running away last night.

"Ok, so you're going to find him now, right?" Isaac asks, sounding more than a bit confused.

"Yes he is. Shower first, though. Go on!"

Wondering vaguely how his life became this soap-director's wet dream, Derek lets himself be ushered into the bathroom by Lydia.

...

Derek's halfway to Stiles' house when he realises that, despite Lydia's coaching as he got dressed in the outfit she picked out for him, he has absolutely no idea what he's doing. Does he go in through Stiles' window, or be polite and knock on the door like a normal human would do? How does he even broach a subject like this? He doesn't think 'hey, you may be my mate, think you can forget what an ass I am and love me how I love you?' will go down well at all.

Although, according to Lydia, Stiles wants this just as much as Derek does.

But why would he? Who would want Derek, of all people? Especially when that person is Stiles – with his perfect doe eyes and full lips and his apparently above-par kissing skills. Stiles could have anyone in the world, so why would he pick Derek?

...

_Why break tradition?_ Derek asks himself as he sits in his car outside Stiles' house. The Sheriff's car isn't there, so he assumes he's out on shift. _Might as well use the window. It's open._

He steps towards the house and climbs up to Stiles' window. He's been in here enough times to know which path up the wall is best and quietest and he will deny to the end of the Earth that it was him who broke their gutter and fixed it with duct tape a few months ago. No way was that him. He slips into the room silently, like a shadow, and stands by the window watching Stiles at his computer, satisfied that he is unheard and unseen.

He watches, hypnotised, as his fingers fly across the keyboard tapping out hundreds of words before he pauses.

"So... does this means we were destined to be together?" Stiles says, out of the blue.

_He knows, oh crap, he knows. He's going to hate me. He's probably disgusted by me. _

"Stop freaking out over there," Stiles sighs and swivels his chair around to face Derek, who is braced to jump out the window at any moment.

"Have you been talking to Lydia?" Derek asks quietly, crossing his arms and hunching in on himself. _Damn her._

"No," Stiles says, standing up, "Why? Did you tell her?"

"How do you know, then?" He asks, ignoring the other questions, "Look, it's not definite, I can stay away from you, I'll never bother you again if-"

He stops abruptly when Stiles moves over to his dresser and throws a stack of print-outs onto the bed between them. Derek steps forward instinctively and looks at the headlines of the Wikipedia articles he's printed off. _Werewolves: __Bonded, Unbonded and Soulbonded, _is the name of the top article. Derek brushes his fingers over the highlighted words: _mates for life _and_ permanently attached. _He feels a brief glimmer of hope in his chest, but quashes it quickly. This does not mean that Stiles is accepting him as a friend, let alone a mate.

"I mean, it took time to research it, but..." Stiles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and shuffles his feet. Derek finds an article about claiming a mate and steps back, feeling his cheeks burning.

"When did you start looking?" He asks carefully, instead of tackling Stiles to the floor and letting his wolf take over.

"Um, after Garrett left? I... I wanted to know my place in the pack. He kept talking about... c-claiming me and at first I thought he just meant claiming me as one of your pack, as in you hadn't turned me, but then I started digging and Googled werewolf claiming. You weren't going to give me answers, so I found them for myself. There's some really weird stuff. Like, seriously, the Twilight fanfiction alone was enough to scar me for life. Then I started thinking and well, you know, I figured out... but I might be wrong. Oh God, that would be embarrassing."

"Stiles," Derek cuts in, "You're... You aren't wrong."

Stiles' eyes flick up to meet Derek and he feels like running again, just getting the hell out of here and cutting his losses before Stiles makes him regret every life choice he's ever made.

But then Stiles lights up like the fucking sun. He grins and his eyes practically glitter as he stares at Derek, wondering and full of... affection? Love?

"Get your ass over here _now_, puppy." The name stirs something in Derek, a feeling of happiness and belonging somewhere with other people, with his _mate_. He steps around the bed and slowly walks to Stiles, who wraps his arms around Derek's waist and rests his head on his chest. Derek closes his eyes and breathes in Stiles' scent, smelling a mixture of pack and contentment and Stiles' very own scent, a smell that Derek has and will always love more than life itself.

That smell of home.

He draws back a bit and Stiles looks right into his eyes, like they have the answers to the universe buried in them if only he looks deep enough.

"You can kiss me... If you want," Stiles says coyly, tipping his head to the side slightly and batting his eyelashes, somehow managing to make it look sarcastic. Only Stiles could ever manage that.

"Shut up." Derek inches closer, teasing him with slow movements. Then leans forward and their lips meet at last. He savours the warmth that spreads over him, starting at the contact point and soaring through his veins and muscles like wildfire. He can hear both their heartbeats speeding up, beating in unison as Derek carefully bites Stiles' lower lip, taking it in his mouth and sucking gently. He chuckles at the needy moan that he gets in return and throws himself into satisfying them both.

He licks into his mouth and Stiles opens up to welcome him eagerly. Derek can feel Stiles' hands all over him, running up and down his back, through his hair, over his stubble and he _loves it._ He loves that Stiles wants this as much as him, knowing that they can finally stop dancing around each other and just be together.

"Forever. Is that right?" Stiles gasps as he breaks away. Derek moves to his jaw line, letting his teeth graze the skin there. "It said 'for life'. _Please_ tell me that's right."

"Yes," Derek says in between kisses to Stiles' throat. "I'm yours, forever."

"Mine?"

"Yours. Completely."

_That's that, then. _

_Thank you very much for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to review._

_And that's all, so until next time, my friends._

_Dizzy :) xx_


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